


The Ice Harvester

by flowercrownedgansey



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, F/M, Gen, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowercrownedgansey/pseuds/flowercrownedgansey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his dreams, she kissed him then, but her lips turned cold and silent with ice.</p><p>(Or, an AU where Hans reigns, Anna is frozen, and Kristoff waits for salvation).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ice Harvester

The Ice Harvester

 

      The summer sun was waning into autumn and the queen’s winter had long melted away to nourish the fjord, yet her sister still stood.

      She had a flag carrying the crest of House Westerguard draped around her fragile shoulders, placed there when the new king had her unceremoniously dragged away from the spot where the queen’s blood seeped into the ice and the sea thawed back to life underfoot. No droplets fell from her silvery blue body, not when summer returned with an intensity that suggested nature’s vengeance against a strange magic, not when the king gave her cheek a last caress, his lips curled in a toothless smile that flickered in his handsome eyes, not when her parents’ servants dried the last of their tears and swore fealty to the hero who had dirtied his hands to save their kingdom.

      Kristoff would know if a droplet ever fell, because Kristoff watched her every day.

      From his one small window, Kristoff could see when the castle gates opened and when they closed; he could see the top sails of ships coming to trade and pay homage to the king, the lords and ladies who smiled and awed and the maids and stable boys who whispered quiet prayers against bad luck and mysterious curses and trolls….but, mostly, he saw her.

_____________________

      She had been waiting in the courtyard for him the day the royal guards found him. The king was no fool-- Kristoff may have been stronger than any two of them put together, but it was Sven their weapons turned on. Their arrow tips flashed and Kristoff screamed at them to stop, hurling himself between them and his oldest friend.

      “Please,” he pressed his forehead to Sven’s for a moment, and the words left his throat with a sorrow that ripped through his core. “Run and don’t come back! Do you hear me? They’ll kill you, not me.”

      Sven emitted a low whine of disbelief that Kristoff ignored with a sob, kicking stones at the reindeer’s hooves. “Go, damn you! “ He reached out to grab Sven’s harness in a desperate attempt at flight, but iron hands gripped his arms and wrenched him to the ground. As he knelt there, he heard Sven’s cry of anguish ring back at him through the woods as he disappeared.

      They had blindfolded him for the march to town, and though he shook with fury and grief, it was not until he saw the view from his cell window that he broke, slamming his fists against the stone wall like he meant to raze the castle down upon them all. A chagrining _tsk_ brought his attention to the door as it began to close with what sounded like a death rattle.

      “I _do_ hope you’ll be comfortable here, my friend,” the king said with a light laugh, his comely smile turning spiteful the longer he stared. The last thing Kristoff saw before he collapsed in exhaustion was the ethereal blue glint of the princess’ body in the twilight.

____________________

      Day and night she stood there, posed forever in her sister’s last defense, and day and night her figure haunted him. _You couldn’t have saved her, she didn’t love you_ , he reminded himself. Was true love’s kiss enough to undo the damage when it was only one sided? Could any love ever be that strong? Had he imagined her voice on the wind that day, a sweet voice cut off by sealed shut lips before she could stop the then-prince from executing her sister? Kristoff remembered the way the beautiful queen’s blood had looked dark and dull compared to her crystalline creation. _I’m glad you didn’t see that, Anna. I should’ve killed him then, for both of you_. But he had hidden away in fear and grief until wolves with swords and armor forced him back into the oppressive sun.

      It would be better, he thought, when winter came, so that she would not look as unnatural as she did against a backdrop of verdant green hills and a clear blue sky, but he could not have been more wrong. When the first snow of winter fell (the true winter, the townsfolk whispered, uneasy at the remembrance of a great blight) he sometimes imagined her moving, twirling around in the flurries like she would have done in life, her pink cape swinging around her legs. Her laughter teased him and she stuck out her tongue—to catch snowflakes, or to provoke him, or both—and she fell back in a fit of giggles and tried to pull him into snow bank beside her. In his dreams, she kissed him then, but her lips turned cold and silent with ice.

      Kristoff had never kissed a girl before, not like that, and now he never would, save for in the nightmares that woke him at night and the dark thoughts that slunk into his mind during the day. He watched as a light snowfall dusted her hair with reverence, as if it sought to comfort her with the same devotion as the summer who had tried to destroy her. He imagined himself a snowflake, barely able to touch her before he dissolved. It was more than he could do as himself.

      Bulda had told him many times, often as she scrubbed his ears or his feet, that he would be a catch, if only he would _apply_ himself to becoming one. As a child, the idea of human girls (“but I’m living with _you_ forever, right”) was certainly more absurd than, well, being a troll foundling; as an adolescent, he had merely scoffed and continued to grow his hair too long for her liking, and as an adult…

      _Ice is my life_ , he had said numerous times. As he stared across the desolate courtyard, the irony of the statement sent a shudder through him.

___________________

      One day, as a new spring began to turn snow to slush and the world began to stir with waking life, there was a knock on his door. No one had ever knocked before—the endless cycle of a monotonous routine meant that Kristoff knew when his visitors (Kai bearing meals, Gerda bearing occasional fresh laundry) would arrive to the minute—but there it was, a startling echo.

      “Come in?” Kristoff heard himself say, his voice tentative and hoarse. Was that the right response? He doubted anything hostile would have kept the knocker out.

      “So polite,” was the reply. “I think I will.”

      Kristoff’s stomach clenched; the iron cuffs around his ankles suddenly seemed to be dragging him into the floor.

      Hans was resplendent in a cape of deep purple, the crocus of Arendelle embroidered on his chest, the sun of the Southern Isles a gold pin over his heart. His red hair was a blaze of warmth in a room of grey, and his features were as elegant as ever, but Kristoff could see faint lines around his eyes, a shadow over the visage of the young ruler. Nevertheless, his posture remained tall and arrogant as he gave Kristoff a once-over. All the disdain the king felt for him was conveyed in such a glance, and Kristoff felt his skin prickle in return.

      “I’ve visited with your friends. They told me that you would do me a favor.”

      “Did they?” Kristoff made sure revulsion punctuated each syllable. “What else did they tell you?”

      “You have to understand that they didn’t come _here_. I sought them out. I needed their expertise in…well, we’ve both been touched by magic in the past, haven’t we?” A hidden curiosity was illuminated in Hans’ look, if for a brief moment. Kristoff squirmed. “And the point is that I want it gone.”

      “It?”

      “Her.”

      Kristoff blinked, following Hans’ gaze out the window. “I don’t quite—“

      “The trolls told me that you are the best ice harvester in Arendelle. They made sure of it. If you want your freedom, you’ll end this for me.”

      Loathing crumbled into horror in Kristoff’s heart. Hans had crossed over to the window, and now Kristoff launched to his feet, cramped muscles finding power in his hate.

      “How _dare_ you!” He began. “How dare you even think—“ But he was cut off by Hans’ hand yanking his head back by his overgrown yellow hair and a thirsty-looking knife at his throat.

      “Do you enjoy it then?” Hans practically shrieked. “Have you spent the past ten months thanking me for this imprisonment, so that you might every day stare at her in your devotion? Or do you love the way she creeps into your mind, unwanted? Do you have nightmares that—“ He stopped himself with a gasp, slipping back into his regal mask before Kristoff could fully register his words. “The trolls believe you are the only one with the touch to do this, and you will. If you do not, I will keep her in here with you.”

      Kristoff felt a chill go through him in spite of himself. _No, no, it’s all so wrong. Why does the room grow so cold with the thought of her standing here?_

      “If you have nightmares, your grace, you only have yourself to blame.”

      Hans gave him a small smile as he let him go. _Bulda told me folktales about demons like you_ , thought Kristoff. He barely nodded back.

___________________

      He started with her cape.

      It had swept out from behind her as she slid to a halt in front of her sister, and when it froze snowflakes as thin as veins had been encrusted in it. As he chiseled it off of her body, iridescent slivers of blue melted and vanished before they could hit the ground.

      _And just what kind of magic have we been touched with?_ Kristoff wondered.

      Next, her arm. She had held it out so bravely, maybe a split second earlier and the sword would never have met the queen’s flesh. Kristoff closed his eyes against the memory of snapping bone and crackling ice as he brought his saw down.

      He could feel Hans’ gaze behind him, anticipation radiating from the king’s body like a tangible heat. All around were guardsmen, tense with wariness as the sound of the gnawing blade filled the otherwise silent courtyard. And then there were Anna’s eyes, sightless and shimmering but never crying, not even at the end.

      Kristoff’s fingers grasped for his axe.

      _Ice is my life_ , the still-rational part of his brain reminded him.

      _Nobody wants to be alone! Except maybe you_ , she yelled in his head at the same time.

      He swung at her heart.

      There was crack that Kristoff felt reverberate in his own chest, and then a hush, as if all of nature had lost its breath.

      She stood a moment more, long enough for the image of his blade splitting her apart to burn itself into his memory, and then she crumbled all at once, nothing but glittering fractals disappearing into the air.

      The exclamations and shocked whispers that followed were drowned out by the sound of Kristoff retching. He remained on his knees even after he was finished, shaking and undone.

      “Open the gates,” he heard the king say, the authority in his voice not quite hiding the relief he felt. “He’s free to go.”

      _You’re free, you’re free. Get up, you idiot_. But still he kneeled, head bent, focusing only on his breathing and feeling the breeze for the first time in almost a year.

      A gloved hand came to rest on his shoulder.

      “You wanted to know what else your friends told me?” Hans murmured. “They told me she loved you too. I wonder if your kiss would have worked in place of mine?”

      “N-no…” Kristoff stammered, his vision swimming.

      “No,” Hans said, “just the babble of some old trolls.” He gave Kristoff a knowing grin as two guards dragged him to his feet.

      The wind had picked up as evening fell; as the sky bled pinks and dark purples into the coming darkness, Kristoff could swear it felt cooler than any spring weather he had experienced before. The little town unfolded before him, but he was a stranger to it now, touched by death and ancient sorcery. He turned instead toward the mountains, and as he climbed, something soft and chilling brushed his nose. He tilted his head and parted his lips as the snow started to fall, kissing him with bitterness.


End file.
